Anchorage

The Ted Stevens Anchorage International Airport in Anchorage, Alaska, is almost empty except for a few passengers and a large taxidermied grizzly bear and bull moose. “Closed” signs are taped to metal gates pulled over the doors to most restaurants and stores. The only line in the terminal is for presenting negative COVID-19 test results, a requirement to enter Alaska.

Downtown Anchorage, the largest city in Alaska, is empty. Cruises are canceled, so no ships are docked in the harbor unloading tourists to eat and drink at the Glacier Brewhouse, to buy sweatshirts and flakes of gold at Trapper Jack's Trading Post, or to line up around the block to take the trolley tour. The windows of the Hard Rock Cafe are boarded with plywood and bike racks are empty. At the Dark Horse Cafe, masks are required because the cafe owners are fighting to stay open with the few customers they have.

Across the street from the cafe, Alaskans stand outside the Permanent Fund Dividend (PFD) office for their annual government payment from oil drilling on public land. This year, the check is distributed in July instead of October to help residents through hard times. The $992 dividend is the lowest in years ---down from $2,072 in July 2015. That was the year tax breaks cut the revenue from oil companies. Yard signs say “vote yes” or “vote no” in November for The Fair Share Act which would increase the State of Alaska’s share of revenues from the production of oil and increase the dividend. With oil revenue down and tourism season wiped out, programs and services have been cut from the state that has no income tax.

But in a midtown neighborhood, a "homegrown playground" is drawn in chalk on a sidewalk and signed by Brayson, Anista, and Sequoia. The hours are 4 p.m. to 6 p.m. and written onto each square section is a different room or activity: storytime, pogo stick with instructions to work hard, sing la la la, jump rope room, and restaurant. Their rules are: be nice, don't touch people, no lying, don't annoy people, and have fun.

Blocks away, a photo exhibit of "Unheard" hangs on the outside walls of the Anchorage Museum of Art. The photos are of women, and a man, and their stories of domestic violence are taken from the Pulitzer Prize-winning series by the Anchorage Daily News. Signs explain that Alaska has the highest rate of sexual assault in the nation, nearly four times the national average. About one-third of women in Alaska experience sexual violence in their lifetime, "yet it is a secret so steeped in everyday life that to discuss it is to disrupt the norm."

Pastors explain that there are churches on every corner in Anchorage because there are so many people who are broken and have lost their way. The natives and Eskimos leave villages and come to Anchorage for a better life. Some villages prohibit alcohol. Some have an oppressive hierarchy. Others don't have running water. Not only was the land of Eskimos and natives taken by explorers, missionaries, and white men who moved in, it is they who are discriminated against in Alaska. The Jim Crow laws of the South were also used against the indigenous people of Alaska.

"Anchorage is a big city compared to their villages, and the people who come here often have trauma from the villages and tragic stories," explains a pastor who leads a street ministry in Anchorage. "They don’t have the skills they need to succeed so they gravitate to the people here that they know. Often those people are already stuck in drugs and alcohol addiction. Sexual abuse is an epidemic. My goal is to go after the source of the problem, not the person. You have to go after the desire, then we can help them through recovery."

Sexual abuse is a crime this pastor understands. The former staff sergeant, husband, and father went to prison for sexually assaulting a 15-year-old girl. An addiction to pornography at age 11 was his first step on a downward spiral and leading a double life.

"I was a different person when I came to Alaska," he said. "I was at the top of my career, but it was all a facade. Inside I was broken and stuck in my own sexual addiction and I confessed it all. Horrified and ashamed, I fell to my knees. So many things happened after I went to jail and submitted to God. I try to show people on the streets that no matter what they have done, anyone can change because God saved and changed me. If I can help prevent the abuse of just one woman or child, then my work will be worth it."

The pastor’s ministry has grown with more people living on the streets. The deserted downtown also makes the expanding homeless population more visible. The homeless were once sheltered and provided services for farther away, but COVID-19 has forced them, and the shelter, to move into the arena, closer to downtown, with more room for social distancing.

The Anchorage summers are warm with daylight until midnight, so many moved from the shelter to outdoor spots around town. They sit in groups in front of the visitor's center around the purple peonies or on the corners of intersections. A few lay in parking lots to sleep. Community is important, no matter where it comes from, and a group of 15 tents creates a camp overlooking the interstate. They store belongings in grocery buggies and hang clothes from tree branches.

A zone campsite public notice is stapled to a power pole close to the campsite, warning that this was "not a legal area for storage or shelter" and "at the end of 10 days it shall be removed and disposed of as waste."

Increased visibility of the homeless has led to increased awareness by the public and increased donations to ministries and food banks. It is also forcing the city to take action.

"The city is looking at more transitional and long-term housing units," said Adam Ziegler, Executive Director of New Hope Compassionate Ministries, who is called to show all people they are loved.. "Once we get people housed, we can work with mental health and addictions. Then get them job training and help finding employment. The services need to be where they are easily accessible to reach people where they are.”

Ziegler said if someone becomes homeless, they try to get him or her into housing right away, increasing their chances of getting back on their feet. “The problem is, most people don't want housing or programs for the homeless close to their neighborhoods and are speaking out against most proposed locations,” he said. “This is a crisis with no easy answers."

Crisis or the search for a better life is what drives many people to move to Anchorage, an entry into Alaska, the last frontier.

Luis grew up in Mexico. Living in San Diego when he visited his brother in Anchorage, he found healing in the nature surrounding the city and moved right away.

"I moved to Anchorage with nothing," Luis said. "After years of working in the local hospital, people thought I was crazy when I quit my job to open a hot dog cart that specializes in toppings. Today I have the International House of Hot Dogs food truck."

Luis is grateful to own a business that makes people happy and for customers who keep coming back. Each day he calls them friends and shows them they are important.

"Life is hard for many around us. People are losing their jobs, their homes, and their dreams,” he said. “In the times we are living in right now, kindness is being forgotten. Kindness, compassion, gratefulness, and helping each other. That is what unites us.”